


five times beetlejuice learns from others and one time they learn from him

by pumpkinsonly



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: (but not in the way you're thinking), 5+1 Things, Beetlejuice Learns How To Emotion, Boundaries, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Self Confidence Issues, Sleepy Cuddles, musical verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2020-10-29 03:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20790083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinsonly/pseuds/pumpkinsonly
Summary: Beetlejuice learns about emotions, courtesy of the Deetz-Maitland household.





	1. Barbara

**Author's Note:**

> i dont think this fandom has ANY 5+1 fics so guess what! here's one!
> 
> this fic has not been beta'd - please let me know of any glaring typos
> 
> set in musical verse. NOT beetlebabes.

Adam had always mused about getting a dog when they were younger, living somewhere bigger than Winter River in a much smaller apartment. Barbara had agreed, with one stipulation — that the dog _not_ be allowed on the bed.

So how she ended up, years later, with a smelly, possibly bug-infested creature giving her puppy dog eyes at the foot of her bed was anyone’s guess.

“_Please_,” he begged. “I’ll be good! I’ve _been_ good.”

Barbara’s eyes narrowed at him. She was currently tangled up with Adam, cheek pressed into the back of his neck and one of her legs between his. Adam and Barbara had discovered that they didn’t need to sleep when they were dead, but it still felt just as refreshing to do it. So they’d dragged a pull-out sofa up to the attic to doze, cuddle, and, well... do other things on. Their plan had been to snuggle the night away until it was interrupted by the house’s resident demon.

“Really?” she says. “How do I know you’re not going to grope me and Adam the minute we let you in?” Adam hums in agreement.

Beetlejuice’s jaw drops open grotesquely wide in shock. “Wha — wha — _me?_ You think _I_ would betray your trust like that?” he over dramatizes.

Barbara can practically feel Adam’s eye roll. “Beetlejuice, we’re just not comfortable with that. Remember the talk about boundaries?”

Beetlejuice practically wilts at the mention. “Yeah, I ‘member,” he mumbles. “Sorry.” His hair turns a touch blue.

Barbara sits up despite a groan of protest from Adam. She’s realized Beetlejuice does much better with a bit of positive reinforcement. And, admittedly, this is much better — in the past he either would’ve jumped in the bed without asking or thrown a screaming tantrum in anger.

She places one hand over his. “Thank you for respecting that boundary. We’re going to rest now. We’ll see you in the morning. Okay?”

Beetlejuice nods. His hand remains still under Barbara’s — she can’t tell if it’s stiff from nerves or if it’s the whole being dead thing.

“I — Just — Can I —“ he stumbles over his words. His hair goes to a deep purple immediately and she can almost see him fighting his emotions inside his mind.

He breathes deeply in and out a few times, squeezing his eyes shut — something she thinks Delia had taught him. His hair regains a few streaks of green.

“I get — _nervous_. When I’m downstairs alone at night,” he says. “It’s too quiet and I can’t — Can’t focus without someone around. Could I just sit in here, maybe? Or outside the door? I’ll be quiet.”

He refuses to meet her eyes, but she squeezes his hand in acknowledgment. If you’d told her a year ago that he’d be able to verbalize his emotions like this, she wouldn’t have believed it. She turns toward Adam who gives a nod of assent.

“Of course you can sit in here with us,” she says. “Just be quiet, okay?”

He nods, his hair returning to a much greener state. “Thanks,” he mutters.

“No problem,” Barbara smiles down at him. She removes her hand from his, intent on going back to cuddle her husband.

There’s a few footsteps, and then quiet as Beetlejuice settles in. “Goodnight,” they both hear from the corner of the room that held their old armchair.

Barbara smiles into Adam’s neck, despite herself. “Goodnight,” they both say back.

He’s knocked out cold when they get up in the morning, curled into their armchair.


	2. Delia

“Whatcha doin’, Deb?”

Delia yelps, frightened by the sudden appearance of Beetlejuice, currently floating above the kitchen table where she had been working. There's a large stack of books next to her, all similar to the one she's currently writing in.

Delia collects herself. “Hello, Mr. Beetlejuice. How... nice of you to join me.” She smiles wanly at him, still not quite used to sharing her home with a demon who can pop in and out of existence as he pleases. “Could you try to announce yourself next time?”

His eyes brighten at that. “Like this?” He pulls a loudspeaker out of no where and a neon sign marked with his name lights up behind him.

Delia jumps up, placing a hand on the loudspeaker before he can start to use it. “No, no, no! Sorry dear. That’s not what I meant. Just, don’t pop up out of nowhere right in front of people. Okay?”

Beetlejuice grumbles. “Okay.” He floats lazily for a few minutes, then comes down to look over her shoulder where she’d continued writing. “You never told me what you were working on. Can I ask?”

“Of course! I’m so sorry, I forgot! Here, look,” she says. She spreads the book out on the table before her. _Learning to Love Your Inner Goddess: A Workbook_ is filled in neatly, save for a single scrawl across the page when Beetlejuice had frightened her.

“It’s a self help workbook. You answer questions the book gives you about yourself so that you learn more about yourself!”

Beetlejuice’s eyebrows furrow together. “What do you learn about _yourself?_ How do you not know something about yourself?”

Delia hums. “Well, right now I’m on a path to self love and discovering my worth as an individual. I never learned how when I was younger, so now I’m figuring out why that is!” She points to the necklace littered with stones around her neck. “My rose quartz and moonstones help me. They’re for self esteem and concentration.”

Beetlejuice nods slowly, clearly still confused. “And — the workbooks and crystals help you? You become better?”

“Well, I hope so! The workbooks help me find my inner feelings and express them, while the crystals _channel_ that energy, turning it into a tool for my spirit to wield.” She launches into a lengthy explanation of her process with the workbook which Beetlejuice finds himself entranced by.

Her explanation is done no less than fifteen minutes later, and Beetlejuice is still staring at the workbook in awe. “Can I try?” he asks.

Delia brightens at the suggestion. “Oh, absolutely! We can be workbook partners! Let me see, I don’t think the _Inner Goddess_ series is quite your style, but I think I have... a-ha!” She finds the book in the stack of books sitting next to her on the table and places it in front of him. _Your Best Self Discovered_ stares up at him, a smiling woman decorated in watercolor flowers inviting him to open it up.

Delia, beside herself in excitement over her newfound workbook partner, suddenly jumps up. “You sit right there, Mr. Beetlejuice! I’ll be right back!”

Beetlejuice stares at her as she runs off. Shrugging, he returns to the workbook and inspects it — opening it, flipping it upside down, licking the spine. Not bad, could use a roach or two.

Eventually, Delia rushes back in, a package in her hands. “These are perfect for you!” she gushes. She opens the box, unwrapping a few small crystals. “Citrine, to ward off negative energy. Hematite, for focus. _And_,” she says, pulling out a green stone that Beetlejuice’s eyes instantly go wide at. “Malachite! For transformation. It's one of my favorites.”

She presses the crystals into his hands. “Keep them on you to increase their effects. Along with the book, they’ll help you channel your best self in no time!”

Beetlejuice’s hair lightens just a touch. “They’re mine?”

“Of course!” Delia exclaims. “We’re workbook partners now! We help each other out!”

His hair turns from a light green, to yellow, to pink, and back again at lightning speed, eventually settling on a mixture of them all spread throughout his hair. Delia pretends not to see the tears welled up in his eyes. He puts the stones in his breast pocket, clutching them through the material of his shirt, and grabs the book. “Th — Thanks, Delia, I’m gonna go work on this now okaythanksbye.”

He dashes off, presumably to the roof. Delia smiles and turns back to her own workbook.

It dawns on her later that night that that was the first time he’d called her Delia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> i hear noise in the fandom every so often about delia and beetlejuice being friends, but i don't think ive really seen fan fic/art of it? so here's some! i really think they're meant to be parallels in the musical. they both have problems with people leaving them and fitting in places. idk just my interpretation. let me know what you think!
> 
> btw, i'm using @juicy-beetles [beautiful chart](https://juicy-beetles.tumblr.com/post/187667374909/hey-i-made-some-beetlejuice-emojis-that-display?is_highlighted_post=1) for bj's mood ring hair!
> 
> and as always come hit me up on tumblr @seizetheday-o if you'd like


	3. Adam

He’s careful when he does this. A scrape here, a jut of the knife there. The smallest of punctures made where the eyes should be. The tip of his fingernail outlines the mouth slowly, checking to see if the face looks correct. And before he knows it, the tiny figure made out of wood sits before Adam, ready to be painted.

Death has provided a surprising amount of opportunities for Adam -- he’s made real friends with the Deetzes, become nothing short of a father figure to Lydia, and today he’s taking advantage of the opportunity to truly cultivate one of his hobbies. He and Barbara had tried every hobby in the book while they were alive, but woodworking always stuck with Adam. He loved the detail, the way he could lose himself in a piece of wood and come out a few hours later with a piece of art. It provided a sort of release, one he found he needed even in death. And working on a project provided a motivation for him, something both of the Maitlands had discovered was important in order to keep sane in their afterlife. 

Adam’s current project was laid out half-finished before him -- a scaled model of Winter River. Barbara had considered it a bit odd that he was trying to make a map of a place they could no longer visit or see. But to Adam, the map provided a way to keep up with the world outside of their house on the hill. Lydia dutifully provided him with pictures of the town, framed artfully but still useful in figuring out the town’s layout. It was small, only a handful of neighborhoods and businesses, but Adam had his work cut out for him.

He had taken a break from the relative monotony of carving rectangular buildings (and, conveniently, avoided having to create the new vape shop that had popped up) to start on the people of the town. The figure he had just finished had short hair and wore a dress that hit just above its knees, combat boots and a camera around its neck completing the look. He allowed himself an indulgent smile, looking down at the wooden rendering of Lydia. He’d done quite well on the face, he thought, for one of his first carvings after death. Her nose was perfect, and the permanent smile the wooden Lydia’s face was caught in matched the small smile he had seen on the real Lydia’s face more often than not this past year. 

Although, he realizes with a grimace, that smile tended to be due to -- 

KNOCK.

Due to --

KNOCK.

Speak of the devil. Or demon, rather. “Who is it?” he yells to the closed door. He knows it’s Beetlejuice, no one else knocks in his odd, singular way.

“It’s me,” a raspy voice answers.

Adam rolls his eyes, not unkindly. “Who’s me?”

“Wha -- who the fuck else would it be, Adam.”

Adam laughs. “You can come in, Beetlejuice.” He places the figure of Lydia in his hands down on the map, close to their house.

The door creaks open, Beetlejuice shuffling through. “Hi,” he says blandly.

Adam’s unsure of what exactly Beetlejuice wants to do with him -- frankly, he’s always unsure of what Beetlejuice wants. But, as Delia insists, everyone deserves a second chance.

“Hey, Beetlejuice. What are you doing up here?”

Beetlejuice makes a beeline to the armchair in the corner, only a few feet away from Adam’s model. He curls up in it, not entirely unlike an oversized cat, and rests his head on the armrest. “Bored,” he mumbles. “Came to see if you were doing anything cool.”

“Just working on my model, I’m afraid. I just started on some of the people for the town. Would you like to see?”

Beetlejuice lifts his head up, resting it on his hands. “Sure. Barbara said I had to stop trying to tear up the baseboards, so I’ll take whatever.”

Adam chooses to ignore the baseboard comment. “I actually just finished my first one,” he says, picking up Lydia’s figure from the map. He hands it to Beetlejuice. “What do you think?”

Beetlejuice inspects the carving carefully, holding it as if it might break. He brings it up to eye level, eyes wide. “It looks like Lydia. How did you make wood into Lydia?” he asks.

Adam laughs. “I carved her!” He holds up his whittling knife and a spare block of wood. “Most of my figures are made out of wood, and then I usually go over them with paint.” He points to one of the finished buildings on the model. “See?”

Beetlejuice sets the Lydia figure down. “I didn’t know you could… do that. Like, in your house. I thought that sculpture shit was for fancy artists.”

“You can make pretty much anything out of whatever you want,” Adam says. “Do you want to try? Doesn’t sound like you have much else to do.”

“Sure. How do you… do it?”

“It’s easy!” Adam hands him an extra whittling knife and a block of wood. He knows that giving a knife to Beetlejuice is not one of the smartest decisions he’s ever made, but the demon looks starstruck by the idea that he could create, as he put it, sculpture shit. Plus, this might give the baseboards a longer life span.

“You take the knife and carve bits away from the wood into whatever shape you want. It takes practice, but it’s very rewarding to create something.”

Beetlejuice nods, looking down at his newfound tools. He holds the knife oddly, as if he’s only ever used a knife to stab someone -- which is probably true, based on how he tries to start carving the wood.

Adam cringes. “No, not like that. Here,” he says. He gets up from his chair, coming around to the side of the armchair and leaning over Beetlejuice. He takes his hand, arranging it to hold the knife in a position more suited to whittling down the wood. “Like this.” He demonstrates a stroke of the knife against the wood with Beetlejuice’s hand, carving off a thin piece. “Much easier, see?”

Beetlejuice nods tightly. Adam removes his hand from the demon’s, seeing a tinge of pink come into his hair. He and Barbara had tried to ask about the pink hair before, but it had never ended well -- at this point, he just figured it meant Beetlejuice was uncomfortable. Although, it always seemed to be present when he was around Adam and Barbara -- maybe he was embarrassed? Whenever they tried to ask Lydia, she had just giggled and refused to answer. Whatever it was, Adam took it as a sign to let Beetlejuice breathe. He moves back to his chair, picking up his own knife and a new piece of wood. “Now you can make whatever you want.”

Beetlejuice nods again, the baby pink tips of his hair remaining. He wordlessly looked down at the wood and begins to carve, settling back into the comfort of the armchair. Adam turns back to his own work, starting on a figure for Barbara next.

They carve together in silence for a few minutes -- longer than Adam thinks he’s ever seen Beetlejuice be still besides when he’s asleep. Adam has been checking on him every so often out of the corner of his eye. He does a double take when he looks over and sees Beetlejuice’s hair has turned a deep red and tears are threatening to spill over his eyes any second now.

“Hey, what’s --”

“I can’t _fucking_ do it! Why the _fuck_ did you give this to me!” Beetlejuice seethes. The tears are streaming down his face now. “You can do it, why not me!”

“Hey, hey -- you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I just gave you the tools.” 

“I _want_ to, Adam! I just CAN'T!” he screams. He throws the piece of wood, now carved into an unidentifiable shape, onto the ground, the whittling knife following it. His scream turns into a broken off sob and he collapses into the arm of his chair, face hidden from Adam in an attempt to cover his sobs. 

Adam… doesn’t know what to do. He’s been subject to Beetlejuice’s tantrums, sure, everyone in the house had, but he’d never seen one like this. The sobbing, curled up demon was usually explosive and destructive in his anger. Right now, Beetlejuice seemed much more sad than angry. But, Adam thought, sad was much easier to deal with.

Adam gets out of his chair to sit beside Beetlejuice on the floor. “Hey,” he says, taking one of his hands in his own. “Breathe in deep. Like you and Delia do in the morning, yeah?” Adam’s not good with people, never has been. But Beetlejuice is _very_ transparent in what he needs, and human contact with a healthy dose of validation is at the top of his list. “I’ve seen you do it, I know how good you are at it.” 

Beetlejuice lifts his teary eyes up at that. His face is disgusting, rivers of snot and tears leaking down it. He breathes in deep, holding it for a second or two, then lets out. He repeats the process, hair going back to green with each breath he takes. It’s honestly one of the most pathetic things Adam has seen, Beetlejuice’s sobs mixing with his breathing to create a horrible, stuttered sound. The demon makes it through however, pressing the side of his cheek against Adam’s hand that’s still holding his own once he’s calmed down.

“Sorry,” he says quietly.

Adam’s still a little bit in shock from the whole situation -- they’d gone from amiably carving to a sobbing fit to calm once more in the span of about fifteen minutes.

“It’s okay, Beetlejuice,” he says. He moves his other hand to squeeze Beetlejuice’s in between his own. “Do you want to tell me what that was all about?”

“I couldn’t do it like you,” he says. “I couldn’t make Lydia. I kept messing up. It’s not _fair_ \--” his hair flashes red, but he reigns it in with a breath. “And I feel like I shouldn’t even fuckin’ bother if yours is already good enough.”

“That’s not the point, Beetlejuice! That’s not why I gave you the chance to carve. You don’t have to be good at it to have fun! Here, let me show you something.” He gets up, headed toward one of the last remaining piles of his and Barbara’s old junk. He digs in a box, eventually shouting out a triumphant “A-ha!”

“Here it is!” he says, coming back over to Beetlejuice. He hands him a wooden object, dusty with the years of being forgotten in a box. 

Beetlejuice looks at him blankly. “What is this,” he says.

Adam laughs. “That’s the first thing I ever carved! Guess what it is.”

“Um.” Beetlejuice looks at it closer, flipping it upside down and side to side. “I have no fucking clue. Is this a weird breather thing?”

“It’s an owl! See, the beak --” he points to a small jut that Beetlejuice guesses could be something more than a misstep of the knife, “-- and the feathers!” He points at a set of uneven waves placed on the front.

“This is not an owl, Adam.” Beetlejuice says flatly. “I’ve seen Lydia’s pictures of owls and they do not look like this.”

“But that’s what I’m saying! This was my first ever attempt at wood carving, almost five years ago now. I wasn’t perfect, wasn’t anywhere close. I’m not perfect today! If you want to be good at something, Beetlejuice, you need to _practice_ at it.”

Beetlejuice growls. “You sound like an after school special. But I guess you have a point.”

“How do you know what an after school special is? You got confused by a fountain pen the other day.”

“That’s all that plays on Netherworld television,” Beetlejuice says, oblivious to the horrified look Adam gives him. “Anyways.” He picks up the wood and knife he had thrown to the floor, curling back into the chair. “I guess I’ll try again since you gave such a sappy speech over it.”

Adam gives Beetlejuice’s hand a final pat, heading back to his own chair. “I’m glad,” he says sincerely. “And you don’t have to carve Lydia, you can do whatever you want!”

“I know,” Beetlejuice says. He grumbles, but Adam can tell from the still glassy look in Beetlejuice’s eyes that he’s taken it to heart.

Beetlejuice works on the piece of wood well into the evening, even bringing it downstairs while the household eats dinner (or, more accurately, the living members of the household eat dinner while the dead ones sit and make conversation). No one’s ever really seen him like this before -- quiet, focused, not making any of the obvious wood innuendoes readily available to him.

He doesn’t even react negatively when Barbara and Adam ask him to sleep somewhere other than the attic for the night, citing the need for some alone time -- just grabs another piece of wood before heading off to the guest room. He still gives them an eyebrow waggle, but Adam thinks it would have been legitimately concerning if he hadn’t.

It’s not until Adam almost trips over something right outside of the attic door later that night -- he gets anxious, okay, and it’s not like he needs sleep so he doesn’t mind doing a late night lock check -- that he gets to see an actual creation of Beetlejuice’s. Adam picks the carving up along with the piece of paper under it, a scrawled out ‘thanks’ all it reads. It takes Adam a few minutes to understand what the carving is, flipping and rotating it a few times before he sees it. It’s an owl, just like his. He smiles to himself, slips it into his pocket, and continues on his nightly walk of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long, midterms y'all x_x this chapter was also hard to write, in the sense that BJ and Adam REALLY wanted to have random conversations that didn't contribute to the plot. I have like 500 words of a deleted scene where Adam teaches BJ about blockbuster, lol
> 
> hopefully the next chapter shouldn't take a whole month, I already have an idea for Charles! as always, hit me up on tumblr @seizetheday-o! i ~might~ have decided to start posting sneak peeks there


	4. Charles

The Deetzes are cat people. This is a fact, just like the sky is blue and climate change is real and water is wet. 

However.

The Deetzes have not had a cat since Yersinia passed away five years ago. Yersinia was Emily’s cat and _only_ Emily’s cat, the grouchy old thing, and had died just before she had started to get sick. Charles doesn’t like to think about it. The idea of any cats in the house had been nixed as a result despite begging from both Lydia and Delia.

But when his daughter and her demon showed up with a cardboard box on a stormy night filled with four kittens who didn’t even have their eyes open yet, he couldn’t really say no, could he?

So that’s where Charles found himself at midnight on a Tuesday, a kitten stretched over the towel on his lap as he nursed it. They’d torn through the local pet store in a hurry to find formula and a heating pad; the Maitlands had offered up nursing bottles and blankets, apparently left over from an abandoned litter of raccoon kits they’d rehabilitated once.

Charles had volunteered for the evening feeding shifts, every two hours from six in the evening to midnight. Lydia helped him, of course, but he was loathe to have her give up any of her homework time. And he _definitely_ wasn’t having her wake up in the middle of the night.

The Maitlands were the obvious choice, but their corporeal forms were not quite solid yet, at least not all of the time. They were working on it, they said, almost crying as they watched the kittens mewl, and Charles didn’t really know enough about ghosts to offer any advice besides a pat on the back.

So that left Beetlejuice for the early morning feedings. The demon was currently watching him feed kitten number one, a fluffy calico girl who’s an eager eater.

“See, you hold them around the neck — _gently_ — so you can keep their head up while they eat. This one’s a good eater. Right now they’re eating about five milliliters.”

Beetlejuice is sat at Charles’s feet while he watches. He tends to flop down on the floor wherever he is, not too terribly unlike a cat himself. “Five milliliters,” he repeats. He grabs an empty bottle and points to the corresponding mark with a newly blunted claw. “That one?”

Charles nods. “Yes, that’s correct. Remember, you test the formula on the inside —”

“Yeah, yeah, on the inside of your wrist to make sure it’s not too hot. I know, Chuck, you repeated it like five thousand times.”

Charles sighs. “Sorry. This can be a bit of a delicate process. Hand me the next one?”

Beetlejuice complies, taking the calico and replacing it with a brown tabby. He watches Charles feed it in silence, only interrupted by Charles asking for the third one, a tabby identical to the second except for the tiniest strip of white on its nose.

“How’d you learn to do it?” Beetlejuice asks finally, breaking the silence. “Feed ‘em? Is it like a human baby?”

Charles laughs a bit, despite himself. “No, they’re a little different from humans. Emily taught me. She raised her cat from a baby, just like these, and she’d sometimes take care of orphaned ones.” He looks down at the tabby in his lap, smiling softly. “We haven’t had any, not since she. Not since she got sick, really. I guess Lydia inherited it from her.”

Beetlejuice shifts a little closer to him, just barely pressing against his leg. “Oh. You just seem. I dunno, not like someone who hand feeds cat babies.”

“Kittens. And I didn’t used to be. Emily changed a lot about me.” He looks down at the kitten, a little more stubborn than its siblings. It’s still hard to think about her, even with Delia and a solid year of grief counseling, and he can’t help the tears that well up in his eyes. “She was like that, always doing the unexpected. Patient and sweet with them, then she’d go and name them something like Trash Bag or Hobgoblin.” He laughs wetly. “I love her. I miss her everyday.” 

A tear falls from Charles’s eyes onto his pants, narrowly missing the kitten. He clears his throat. “Sorry, Beetlejuice. I didn’t mean to do that. That wasn’t appropriate to unload on you.”

Beetlejuice gives him a jerky shrug, eyebrows furrowed but not saying a word. The two sit in silence for a bit, Charles coaxing more formula into the kitten.

He’s down to one milliliter when Beetlejuice speaks up again. “Still?” he asks. “You still love her?” His voice is quiet, almost reverent in the way he speaks. Volume control isn’t his forte, but he’s much better about it these days.

“Still,” Charles nods. “We lived together for over ten years, got married, had a daughter together. She’s the love of my life, just like Delia.” 

He sees Beetlejuice tilt his head out of the corner of his eye as he pets the kitten’s head, trying to encourage the last half milliliter into it. “Just like Delia?” he questions. “You can have. Two?”

Charles hums, thinking of exactly how to explain the intricacies and nuances of love to a centuries old demon who had to be coaxed into the shower with candied roaches. “Of course. Love isn’t finite — limited. I love Delia different from how I love Emily, but I still love them both. Just like I love them both different from how I love Lydia. But I still love them all.”

Beetlejuice doesn’t say anything. He looks lost in thought, his lips pursed. Charles reluctantly nudges him with his knee, not wanting to break the heavy silence; tabby-with-white-on-the-nose is done. 

Now that he thinks about it, names are probably a good idea.

“Would you like to do the last one?” Charles asks, placing tabby-with-white-on-the-nose back in the box, snuggled up to an old stuffed bat of Lydia’s. “Just so you have some practice.”

Beetlejuice looks up at him sharply, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “Uh, yeah, I guess. It’s whatever — I mean, yeah, I’d like to.”

Charles slides from the couch to the floor before he can really think about it. Beetlejuice stares at him. “Well,” Charles says after a few moments of them staring at each other dumbly. “It’s waiting.”

Beetlejuice jerks back to reality, dull claws curling carefully around the last kitten. He lifts the orange tabby boy up, placing him over his thigh just like Charles had shown him. Charles hands him the last bottle and Beetlejuice quickly gets the kitten into position. 

“You’re a fast learner,” Charles says. 

Beetlejuice grumbles something under his breath in response, too low for Charles to hear properly. The pink creeping into his hair, just a tint of it, is new to Charles. Hair discussions have not gone particularly well so far, so he decides to leave it alone, but it’s interesting nonetheless to watch the green and pink mingle together. 

The orange kitten seems to be a fan of Beetlejuice, sucking down the formula as quick as he can while kneading Beetlejuice’s knee. They fit together, Charles thinks as the kitten detaches from the nursing bottle and yawns. Beetlejuice lets out a hastily concealed happy noise, petting the tiny head with a single claw. 

Charles might have to talk to the rest of the family about maybe, _possibly_, keeping one of the kittens.

Beetlejuice is practically buzzing with happiness after his successful feeding and after a confirmation that he knows how often he’ll need to feed the kittens, Charles leaves for bed with a quick pat to Beetlejuice’s back and a nonchalant suggestion to start thinking of names. 

He’s more than surprised when he returns to the couch in the morning. The heating pad and blankets have migrated to the couch, nestled in the curve of a sleeping Beetlejuice’s belly. The kittens are all piled up on one another, save for one — the orange boy is pressed up against Beetlejuice’s hand like he just can’t get close enough. Charles rubs gently at Beetlejuice’s shoulder to wake him, a muzzy groan erupting from the demon’s throat.

“Breakfast will be soon,” Charles says softly. “How were the kittens?”

“They w’re good,” Beetlejuice slurs out, eyes blinking slowly as they adjust to the early morning light. “Gotta be fed in ‘bout an hour.”

“I bet Delia will want to help when she gets up,” Charles says. “How do you feel about waffles today?”

Beetlejuice is more awake now. He’s attempting to stretch his legs in a way that doesn’t disturb the kittens and eventually settles for just disconnecting them completely in order to properly extend them out. “Sounds good. Hey, hey, Chuck,” he says, reconnecting his legs as Charles starts to make his way toward the kitchen. “Hold on. I. I think I love them? The kittens? You can do that, right?”

It’s a little too early in the morning for this kind of talk, especially without coffee, but Charles stops and backtracks to sit down next to Beetlejuice anyways. “Of course. They’re very easy to love,” he says. He decides to take it in stride; this probably shouldn’t be made out to be quite as big of a deal as Charles thinks it might be. “Did you come up with any names?”

“Just one. Figured I’d let everyone else have a chance. But, uh. This one,” he points to the orange kitten still snuggled into his hand. “Air Conditioner.”

“Air Conditioner,” Charles repeats.

“Yup,” Beetlejuice says. He pulls the kitten — _his_ kitten, Charles may as well just admit it now — closer against his chest. “Air Conditioner. Doesn’t have any dumb shit attached to it. He’s just Air Conditioner.”

Charles nods, giving Air Conditioner a tiny stroke on the head with his finger. “Right. Air Conditioner it is, then.” Lord, _Air Conditioner_. He can practically feel Delia bouncing with theories on why the hell Beetlejuice chose Air Conditioner as a name. But, again, Charles still hasn’t had his coffee or started on breakfast yet and he frankly isn’t that interested in the psychology behind the name choice. “I’m glad you found a name. One waffle or two, Beetlejuice?”

Beetlejuice snorts, flopping his head back down onto the couch. “Two, my man. Always two. I love, _love_, waffles.”

Charles gives him a smile, patting his hand as he stands up. “Two waffles, coming up.”

Charles makes his way to the kitchen, gathering the ingredients for waffles as he starts on a pot of coffee. He’s pretty sure Beetlejuice thinks he can’t hear the coos of “_I love you, Air Conditioner, I_ love _you_,” coming from the couch as he starts mixing up waffle batter. He doesn’t think that he’ll let Beetlejuice know that he can either — not yet, at least. It's way more precious than Beetlejuice should have a right to be. Charles smiles to himself as he starts pouring waffle number one, the faint sounds of Beetlejuice in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Well its been a little bit hasnt it! i have had more than a few life changes in the past four months, some good things some bad things some very _very_ good things. im not even gonna try to give a timeline for the next chapter but i swear to god i will finish this fic!!!!
> 
> by the way, the information about rearing orphan kittens is accurate to the best of my ability, sourced from both personal experience and [this excellent kitten guide from the kitten lady!](https://static1.squarespace.com/static/54e8ba93e4b07c3f655b452e/t/5cc0f4cc0852298b3259bc23/1556149462479/KL_booklet_March2019.pdf)
> 
> find me on tumblr @seizetheday-o

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! come talk to me on tumblr @seizetheday-o about this good good musical if you'd like
> 
> i am *hoping* that this fic will be completed. these first two chapters came to me in a sudden burst of inspiration, and i'm still figuring out the next four! i am in school right now, working, traveling, etc. etc. so dont be alarmed if there's a little bit between updates - i am probably working on it slowly but surely.


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